


Bless This Mess

by yxurstruly



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Argo-centric, M/M, Pining, Prompt Fill, as per usual, band au, rainbolg if you squint, the amount of times I spelled it "fiztroy" by mistake? unreal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25475746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yxurstruly/pseuds/yxurstruly
Summary: Basically they are an underground alt rock band and Argo is a s*mp.Anonymous on Tumblr requested "59 with maplekeene?" (59. “I want to take a shower so you should probably join me so we can save water.”) and confused-carmine said "16 argo and fitz shsnaj" (16. “Put some clothes on for the love of God.”) and I'm here to deliver--though maybe not in the way you'd expect.
Relationships: Argo Keene/Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	Bless This Mess

**Author's Note:**

> Argo has the window bed, if that isn't clear.

Life on the road as the up-and-coming alt rock sensation Rainier Michelle & the Thundermen was maybe not as glamorous as lead singer Rainier had promised, but there was something to be said for the inherent intimacy of four starving musicians sharing a new crummy motel room each night along their meager, experimental tour. Argonaut Keene reflected on this quietly as he settled down on his and Fitzroy’s bed and snapped open the locks of his battered, stickered guitar case.

Months of bed-sharing while bouncing between regions of their tour had numbed Argo to the awkward tension of his mortifying infatuation with “Sir” Fitzroy Maplecourt, the Thundermen’s tragically attractive bassist. Fitz and Argo were often paired up by default, being the two string players in the band, and no one could deny that there was something special between Rainier and drummer Firby, platonic or otherwise, so Argo quickly learned to build just enough walls to get through the nights.

All of this was a blip in Argo’s mind as he began picking softly through scales and the rest of the band settled in around him. Firby’s drum kit, Fitzroy’s bass, and Rainier’s keyboard were locked safely in the trailer in the parking lot, but Argo always felt more secure with his instrument within reach. Besides, one never knew when inspiration would strike.

“Heading out to find dinner,” said Firby, flashing his key card in reassurance as he left the room. The band would take turns each night they weren't playing finding the cheapest real food money could buy in their new area. Argo nodded his acknowledgement, keeping an intent focus on his scales. He was faintly aware of the water turning on in the joint bathroom.

Rainier rolled into view in the bathroom doorway. “Fitzroy,” she called cheekily.

“Hm?” Fitzroy looked up from trying to connect to the motel’s spotty WiFi.

“I want to take a shower so you should probably join me so we can save water.”

Argo didn’t miss the mirth evident in her voice and accompanying wink. He also didn’t miss the flush that ran up the back of Fitzroy’s neck.

“Oh darling, you tempt me,” Fitzroy countered, equally cheeky, “but it’s a hard pass this evening. Unless you need any help, of course?” he appended, joke aside.

Rainier laughed. “I’ve got it. Thank you, sugar.” She disappeared into the closet-sized bathroom and closed the door behind her.

Argo fidgeted with his pick and his fingernails. Rainier and Fitzroy’s flirtatious banter would be entertaining if it didn’t set Argo on edge. It occurred to Argo then that he could just ask about it.

“Ah, Fitzroy,” he started, feigning nonchalance. “You and Rainier have sure got something special going on.”

“She’s the only woman for me,” Fitzroy grinned, rifling through his duffel bag for a thick pair of socks.

“You two ever done it?” Argo asked, hoping against all odds he sounded neither as awkward nor as suspicious as he felt.

Fitzroy’s bark of laughter startled Argo into a warm flush. “Are you kidding me?”

Argo tucked a stray lock of navy-teal hair behind his ear. He let out a nervous laugh. “So no then?”

“Absolutely not,” Fitzroy clarified. “Rainier is the sister I never had.”

“Oh, good.”

“Good?” Fitzroy asked, plopping down on the bed next to Argo.

Oops.

“A little protective, are we?” Fitzroy teased. The combination of the lilt in his voice and his proximity was enough to make Argo blush, let alone how close Argo was to getting his cover blown. But protective he could work with, sure.

“Protective,” he repeated with an oh-yes-definitely chuckle. “Yeah, I suppose so.” Appallingly, Argo found he couldn’t stop. “Yep, just a tad. Yes siree. That’s me,” he finally trailed off, mortified at his tongue’s inability to stop moving.

Fitzroy was eyeballing him weirdly now, because why shouldn’t he. Argo turned abashedly back to noodling through scales.

“Or maybe you’re jealous,” Fitzroy remarked.

Argo’s fingers stilled on his fretboard. He swore he could feel his pupils dilate.

“Jealous,” he coughed out, a moment too late. He could see Fitzroy’s eyes flame with an unnerving victory.

For months he had kept his infatuation a secret. For months he had lived for stifled sighs in the dark, for drunken grins and bumpy roads, for the snatches of time he could hold onto in which Fitzroy could secretly, unquestioningly, unconditionally his. Now, though, as Argo’s heart and stomach fell and rose respectively to meet one another, he feared he could never hide anything from Fitzroy ever again.

Or maybe he was overreacting.

But the way Fitzroy’s eyebrows were quirked, the way his mouth had settled into a soft but acutely curious “o,” the way his eyes flared with an excitement that was now unbridled assured Argo that no, he was reacting exactly the right amount.

“Jealous,” Fitzroy repeated back, and Argo found microscopic glee in the fact that he wasn’t the only one functioning on one braincell at the moment.

He then cursed his singular functioning braincell for failing to register how close Fitzroy had just drifted and how low Fitzroy’s eyelids had dropped. Not to mention the breath he could feel very faintly on his own lips.

Oh.

Thankfully, or maybe not, his braincell kicked into action just in time to direct one of his hands to the back of Fitzroy’s neck, where it hovered for a moment. Then Fitzroy leaned—nuzzled—into it and Argo felt his breath catch in his throat. His lips stumbled to form any kind of coherent sound. “Fitz…”

The bathroom door slammed open and Argo nearly went into cardiac arrest. “Sweet mother of—”

“Oh dear,” said a towel-clad Rainier, who looked as though she was desperately trying to mask her surprise with humor. “Don’t start anything fun without me.”

“Put some clothes on for the love of God,” Said Fitzroy, who was already on the opposite side of the room, tossing Rainier a rolled-up pair of sweatpants and an early draft of the Thundermen tour t-shirt. “I’m going to go raid the vending machine. Don’t wait up.” And he was gone down the hall before Argo could speak.

Argo’s head spun in the dizzy silence as Rainier changed in the bathroom. He was acutely aware of his pulse, everywhere. With a shaky exhale, he reached down and grabbed his guitar from where it had been forgotten on the floor. He plucked furiously a new melody and muttered some improv’d lyrics. If he couldn’t get the guy out of this mess, he could at least get a song.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for sticking around to read this even after reading that my summary. As always I am moon-jellie on Tumblr and I love your support :,)


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